1
Jase
Location: Adriatic Coast — Somewhere Unfriendly
Time: Night
The boat is burning.
That’s not a metaphor.
That’s a very real, very expensive fire on very dark water.
I crouch behind a half-shattered crate on a dock that doesn’t exist on any map and watch men with bad posture and worse intentions run in directions they didn’t plan on running.
Ronan’s voice cuts through my comm.
“Convoy asset was transferred here. Then vanished.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “That tracks.”
Gunfire cracks through the night.
Someone screams.
I rise just enough, sight, fire—two rounds straight into the engine block of a fleeing SUV. It jerks, stalls, smoke pouring out as it blocks half the exit.
Chaos multiplies.
“Any sign of her?” I ask.
“Negative,” Ronan replies. “But this was the handoff point.”
Of course it was.
I scan the dock again—fast, precise, controlled.
And then I see her.
Dark hair pulled back. Blood on her temple. Moving like she belongs in the middle of a firefight instead of running from one.
Not panicked.
Calculated.
Beautiful.
My chest tightens in a way I don’t have time to deal with.
“Mila,” I breathe.
A year ago—Prague.
Ronan’s wedding.
Too much alcohol. Not enough restraint.
We danced like we were trying to start a war.
